


Rank

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Anal Sex, Filthy, First Time, M/M, Rival Sex, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Sniper’s hygiene is actually pretty alright. But Spy wishes it wasn’t…





	

Steam billowed into the locker room as Sniper emerged from the shower stall. The place had been deserted when he’d come in twenty minutes ago, but Spy was here now, standing before the row of sinks, examining one of his more recent scars in the mirror.

Sniper snatched his towel from his shoulder and yanked it around his waist, but not before Spy had a chance to turn and get an eyeful of him. He straightened up and recovered his bearings, trying to act like he couldn’t care less if Spy had just seen his business, despite his moment of panic.

Spy himself was clad only in a neatly-tucked towel and his ever-present balaclava, and like Sniper, he reflexively adopted his own air of insouciant superiority in preparation for another casual, inconsequential confrontation. They faced each other and said the same thing at the same time:

“You actually shower?”

Between the two of them, Spy was the more affronted at this accusation. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, placing a haughty hand on his puffed-out chest. “My personal grooming is impeccable.”

Sniper noticed then that Spy was subtly looking him up and down, his eyes moving while his head remained still. While he made his appraisal, he bore his usual expression, the one that said, _I don’t approve of what I see, but I will tolerate it because I must_. Still, it seemed to Sniper to be too much time spent looking at one’s rival when they were towel-clad and dripping. Sniper’s face got hot. He deflected his discomfort with a tired but reliable retort:

 “Thought you frogs just splashed on some cologne and called it good.”

Spy made a dismissive noise. “If I stank of cologne, it would make cloaking myself futile, wouldn’t it? With the exception of your counterpart, of course, who would still not be able to detect me, so steeped is he, much like yourself, in his own reek.”

Sniper clenched his teeth as Spy gleefully went on, “But, I suppose neither of you can be blamed for such barbarism, having been raised as you were, by dingoes.”

 “I wasn’t raised by dingoes, alright, mate?” Sniper snarled. He muttered as he reached out to open his locker, “They just looked after me for a couple of hours after school.”

Spy snorted derisively and moved past Sniper to enter the one of the showers. “ _Laisse tomber_ , jar-man. I’ll see you on the battlefield tomorrow.”

“Not if both of us do our job properly,” came Sniper’s reply, as he pulled a clean shirt from his locker. He shook off the strange feeling in his chest, and tried not to think about what he’d just gotten a glimpse of: Spy’s broad shoulders and shapely calves, just before he’d shut the shower stall door behind him.  
  


****  
  


Being “on the clock” did funny things to a man’s work ethic, and ran counter to Sniper’s usual way of doing business. His job typically ended when the target was neutralized, and the faster that happened, the faster he collected his fee, so he was prepared to endure any hardship to get the job done efficiently. The idea of being “done” at a particular time each day was antithetical, and it affected his usual Zen-like patience. Whenever he had an utterly indeterminate amount of time ahead of him, Sniper could crouch, hunch, or otherwise hold himself in stamina-straining stillness for days. But knowing there was an imminent end to his discomfort made that discomfort less bearable. He knew this hindrance was all in his head, but it was real nonetheless, and he didn’t like it.

Rifle in his hands and eye to the scope, Sniper was sweating in the desert heat, the sun still high in the air, even this close to the end of the workday. He gave in to temptation and snuck a glance at his watch to see just how close that end was. That was when he heard the gunshot. He turned just in time to see the BLU Spy slump to the ground behind him, balisong still clutched in his right hand. His comrade Spy lowered his revolver, and a moment later, the klaxon blared to indicate another stalemate and the end of the workday.

Sniper silently thanked Spy by doffing his hat. Spy acknowledged this with a grave nod, and sauntered forward, stepping over his expired counterpart. He reached into his jacket and brought forth his silver cigarette case. Deftly taking a cigarette with the crook of one finger, he placed it in his mouth, then held out the case, offering one to Sniper, who graciously accepted. “Cheers,” he said grimly.

Spy lit Sniper’s cigarette first, then his own. The nicotine felt good after Sniper’s near-death adrenaline rush. “I’ll have to do the same for you one day,” he remarked.

Spy smirked. “Save my life?”

“Nah, mate,” Sniper said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Give you one of my cigarettes.”

Though Sniper had for several hours been over-eager to be done for the day and off the battlefield, he lingered now in his nest. They smoked together in silence, a respite from their compulsive enmity. Sniper watched Spy place his cigarette between his lips to take a drag. When his eyes flitted up, he noticed that Spy was looking back at him, and he averted his gaze, nervously touching the brim of his hat. Despite his anxiety, he did not rise and sling his rifle over his shoulder until Spy had crushed his own cigarette end under his shoe and made for the stairs.  
  


****  
  


Minutes later, Sniper was alone in his camper, one hand bracing himself against the overhead kitchen cabinets and the other hand holding his prick, masturbating intensely over the sink. All he could think about was the way that cigarette had looked in Spy’s mouth, and he felt stupid about this, but he didn’t stop.

He could feel his finish building up when there was a knock on the door. “Go away!” he shouted, his voice breaking embarrassingly. His visitor was not dissuaded, and knocked again. Sniper swore sharply under his breath, shoving his throbbing erection into his trousers and buckling his belt hastily. He took a deep breath and flung the door open.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” he said, before he even saw who it was. There was no one it could have been who deserved any friendlier of a greeting than that.

It was Spy. Though he was nonplussed by Sniper’s hostility, he was not deterred by it. He asked, “May I come in?”

For some reason, though the sight of Spy just now made his stomach flip, Sniper couldn’t shake his habit of animosity. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get cooties if you come in here?” he sneered.

“Not at all,” Spy said, with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “I’ve had all the company-issued vaccinations.” He put a foot on the first step up, and Sniper reflexively moved back to give him room.

Once inside, Spy reached back to pull the door shut behind him. Most of the curtains were closed; Sniper hoped that meant it would be too dim for Spy to notice that his prick was still rock-hard behind his zipper. Regardless of what he may have observed, Spy said nothing on the matter.

“Whatever it is,” Sniper said with a glare, “you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

Strangely, Spy’s response was to inhale deeply. His eyes flicked across the room, as though he were searching for something. Whatever it was, he apparently found it in Sniper; their eyes met, and Spy favored him with a profound gaze. “ _Au contraire_ ,” he said, with a mischievous smile, “I believe I have arrived at the perfect time.”

Spy had been in his van for less than a minute, but Sniper was already fed up with his cryptic nonsense. “Could whatever this is not wait until dinner? I’m headed over to the kitchen in half an hour…”

“I wished to speak with you…privately,” Spy said, with an inviting tilt of his head. If Sniper didn’t know any better, he’d have thought – but no, it couldn’t be. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, whatever it is, spit it out, I haven’t got all day.”

Spy rolled his eyes. “Very well. Since you are a man with a frustrating appreciation for plain-spokenness, I will speak plainly: I find myself attracted to you, for reasons I frankly don’t wish to understand. I am prepared to pursue whatever variety of seduction is necessary to make you my lover.”

To demonstrate his enthusiasm for any such chivalry that might indeed be required, Spy reached for Sniper’s hand, took it in his own, and lifted it, so that he might touch his lips to the scarred knuckles. But when he was a fraction of an inch from making contact, he froze, his eyes wide. He sniffed, then inquired, with dark suspicion, “What were you doing when I knocked on your door?”

Sniper tried to snatch his hand away, but Spy held it fast. “Mind your own business,” Sniper growled. Spy ignored this, and used his grip to draw Sniper close to him, so close that Spy’s chin came to rest against Sniper’s shoulder. His breath was hot on Sniper’s ear.

“Were you thinking of anyone in particular?” he said, his voice low and wicked. He took another deep whiff, of the skin just below Sniper’s ear, and what he scented there made him shudder bodily.

Sniper misinterpreted Spy’s physical reaction, and twisted away from him, indignant. “Hey now, give a man a chance to clean up and take a shower, eh? I’ve been working all day in the bloody sun, and I wasn’t counting on any perverts barging in here for a shag; not today, anyway.”

“You fool!” Spy threw his arms up in frustration. “I don’t _want_ you clean and showered!”

It was only now that Sniper finally picked up on Spy’s inclination, with Spy having reached the point where he simply could not make it any more clear, and the revelation hit him so hard, he felt a dizzying lurch in his guts. Baffled, his jaw hung open. Didn’t this go against every insult Spy had ever tossed at him? Against Spy’s entire, fastidious lifestyle? He wondered, should he feel insulted about Spy’s very specific lust for him? …Or smug?

Meanwhile, Spy was pressing himself against Sniper once more, confirming with one adventurous hand what he’d felt with his hip a moment ago – Sniper’s straining erection. He stole a glance at the upper bunk. There was not nearly enough room up there to accomplish what he wished to, never mind the awkwardness of climbing up. Instead, he lifted the dining tabletop with one hand, kicked the support column out from underneath, dropped the tabletop, and threw down the cushion over it, converting it to another bunk in seconds, not giving Sniper a chance to think better of going through with this.

He looked into Sniper’s eyes once more, just to make sure he wasn’t about to meet with violent resistance, then grabbed Sniper by the collar and threw him down onto the bunk, with the intention of getting him good and wound up first, then treating himself to the undressing, the uncovering of so much sticky, musky skin.

Sniper’s head was swimming as he landed unceremoniously flat on his back. If someone had told him a mere hour ago that he would now be finding himself in this situation, he would have scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. But here Spy was, fully on top of him and yet still desperate to somehow get even closer, grinding their hard cocks together, crushing their mouths together. For weeks Sniper had loathed himself for wanking over the thought of this snake, but now that Spy was wrenching open his shirt, groaning with delight at what he found beneath it, he could do nothing but gruffly encourage Spy to keep going, to undo his trousers as well, if it pleased him.

As Sniper’s clothes were peeled from his sweaty skin, his rank body odor bloomed thick in the air. Spy muttered against him, “Ugh, you are repulsive, bushman.” Not the first time Spy had spit those words at him, but certainly the first time he’d done so while nuzzling Sniper’s chest hair. Spy continued to level the occasional insult at him, always a commentary on Sniper’s abysmal hygiene, but each time, it was when one or the other of them had just lost an article of clothing. Pressing his face into Sniper’s thick thatch of pubic hair, nosing against his acrid balls, licking the pungent salt from his skin, Spy continued to croak more half-invectives about Sniper’s alluringly rancid odor. When they were both entirely naked (excepting Spy’s balaclava, naturally), Spy dropped down on top of him, rutting against him like an animal, now practically howling, “Oh yes, you foul, slovenly creature!”

He had something in his hand, Sniper suddenly noticed. Thinking it a weapon of some kind, believing that he had been deceived after all, he rolled himself onto Spy and seized the thing from his grip. It turned out to be a jar of Vaseline.

“This for what I think it’s for?” Sniper asked, raising one eyebrow.

“I would assume so, if you’re not as stupid as you are unwashed,” Spy scoffed. He opened the lid and scooped a generous dollop with two fingers. With his other hand, he pushed Sniper just far enough away to make some space between their bodies, so he could smear the Vaseline all over Sniper’s cock. Bracing himself with both hands on Sniper’s shoulders, he spread his legs wide and said, “Now show me what you can do, filthy savage.”

Sniper didn’t need to be told twice. He reached down, gripped his cock, and sloppily tried to aim it, sliding it around beneath Spy’s balls in search of his target. Once he found it, he sheathed himself in one slow, solid thrust. Spy bellowed with shock and pleasure, clasping Sniper between his thighs, trapping him there, deep inside.

Already worn out from the day’s work, Sniper devoted his last shred of energy to continuing his fulfillment of Spy’s request, his thrusts strained but rhythmic. His exertion brought fresh perspiration springing up on his skin, which Spy was quick to remark upon. “Mother of God, you sweat like a beast.” Spy lifted his head from the cushions, pressing his face awkwardly but firmly into the jungle of Sniper’s armpit, suffocating himself in its stench, freeing himself only to grouse, “ _Ach_ , and you reek like one, also. You disgust me, bushman. Fuck me harder.” When Sniper, fatigued, did not comply quickly enough, Spy shouted, “Fuck me harder, you vile wretch! Ruin me!”

Christ, Sniper thought, Spy could really take it. He was giving the bastard everything he had, and still Spy demanded more. He thought of Spy, minutes ago, lifting his hand to give it a chivalrous kiss, and chuckled with disbelief at how things had progressed since then, with a feverish Spy now squirming beneath him, clenching around him, begging to be defiled. But he complied with Spy’s command, grunting with the effort, every muscle overwrought and exhausted. Spy lifted his legs to deepen the penetration, and his hand worked furiously at his own prick as he shouted more insulting imperatives. At last a heaving, shuddering climax overcame him, his heels digging into the cushions as his moans became non-verbal.

The moment he knew Spy had found his satisfaction, Sniper let his own orgasm come, spilling hard into Spy’s splayed, limp body, swearing profusely as he emptied himself. Unable to hold himself up on his shaking arms, he collapsed in a heap upon Spy, who happily cradled him. Things settled into a rhythm of deep sighs and relaxing limbs.

“Mmm, _mon cher_ , you were magnificent,” Spy cooed. “I am sated beyond my wildest dreams. I hope you are feeling the same…?”

Sniper managed a grunt.

Spy continued to twitch a little beneath him, overcome with post-coital sensitivity, but Sniper wasn’t interested in offering any pillow talk, or in having a proper cuddle, or anything for that matter except taking a nap. “You have an escape plan?” he mumbled against Spy’s neck.

“What do you mean?” Spy asked.

“For getting out from under me when I fall asleep on you.”

Spy laughed, stretching out his legs and sliding his fingers over Sniper’s sweaty shoulders. “Oh, _mon coeur_ , why would I want to escape from this?”

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this type of nonsense


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